The five-string cello isn’t encountered very often these
days, but Elinor Frey’s booklet notes for this release tell us that it was
once a member of the bass violin family and by no means as uncommon as it
is today. Bach’s Sixth Suite specifies such a cello, and there are
certain technical advantages to having, literally, an extra string on which
to apply one’s bow.

The sound of the cellos in this recording are somewhere between a normal cello
and an earlier gamba style instrument – fairly bright in tone and with a less
deep ‘singing voice’ than you might expect. Having it expertly accompanied
on the fortepiano puts us straight into the right period and mood for some
superb 18th century chamber music.

Carl Friedrich Abel brings us in with stylish aplomb, the cello being explored
over its whole range, with double-stops and some fun little flageolet flourishes.
This is light entertainment but none the worse for that. The central Adagio
is charming, and the final Rondeau is played using the ‘pantaleone’
stop on the piano, which makes it sound like a hammered dulcimer. The Sonata
in A major further along with basso continuo isn’t quite as exciting but
introduces yet another colour combination into this surprisingly varied programme.

Johann Christoph Friedrich Bach’s Sonata in A major uses the slow-fast-slow
movement order known in some quarters as the “Berlin schema”. This along with
brother C.P.E. Bach’s Claviersonata brings us into the expressive world
of the Empfindsamer stil, in which dynamic change and melodic shapes
both dramatic and intimately confiding can exist in close proximity. Carl
Philip Emanuel’s solo sonata makes a fine companion to J.C.F. Bach’s enjoyable
but less adventurous work. C.P.E. Bach’s music still has the element of surprise,
the spiky little notes flying out of the opening Allegro assai movement
keeping us guessing and gasping. Lorenzo Ghielmi plays with attractive wit,
the central Andante played with a knowing smile, and the virtuoso final
Presto with swinging rhythmic verve.

Franz Benda’s didactic solo pieces give the cello something of a workout,
but have also absorbed some of that Empfindsamkeit so beloved of the
Bach brothers. The two short pieces also give us a break from the fortepiano
– not that this is really needed, but making its return in Johann Philipp
Kirnberger’s Sonata in C major all the more welcome. Kirnberger is
known for his theoretical work, but also composed for his employer Princess
Anna Amalia of Prussia. The Princess owned three fortepianos and was clearly
a fan of the expressive potential in this instrument, here heard at its best
in the spread chords and suspensions in the central Adagio. Little
chromatic surprises juice things up along the way, and the last movement is
a substantial and wide-ranging Cantabile e variazioni.

The final work is left to Carl Heinrich Graun, a Sonata in C major which
also exists in a version with flute. Graun was educated in Dresden but became
leader of Frederick the Great’s court orchestra. This is a fine work with
plenty of space left for, and gratefully taken up by the soloist for some
lovely cadenza-like improvisation. Graun’s music is more stately and certainly
not given to jokes in the way C.P.E. Bach’s music can be, but one can imagine
hearing such music at a distance and being attracted into the candle-lit hall
in which the music is happening.

Indeed, all of the music and the way it has been recorded and performed creates
a magnetic effect. I am full of admiration for all of these musicians and
the way they have brought these Berlin Sonatas to life. These may seem
at first glance like a dry selection of composers but nothing could be further
from the truth. We’re given a healthy dose of “the mid-century Berlin aesthetic”
and come away feeling enlightened, elevated, and royally entertained.